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can change the future. Olga Robertson wrote in her book:
74 Quote from Olga Robertson
“The Men in my life” (See Appendix for the forward) From a distance, the approaching traveller can see lonely turrets jutting out from the white, massive walls of what looks like a medieval castle. They seem to warn curious onlookers to keep a safe distance or be thrown into gloomy, dreaded dungeons. Though not as massive as the Great Wall of China, nevertheless, these forbidding walls certainly seem menacing to an outsider. You can’t help wondering what terrible secrets are guarded behind the impregnable walls of this strange castle. The reality of the prison, however, is underscored by the lacing of steel spikes and electrified barbed wires across the top of the walls. Muntinlupa is a world within a world, almost completely detached from the frenzied lifestyle of an ever-growing metropolis that sprawls around it. “Insiders” stare at their visitors” as if each meeting will be their last chance to see a friendly face. Muntinlupa is a name that brings terror to many since that prison is reserved for the most notorious criminals. Bloody riots are frequent between the rival gangs, and there is little hope for those imprisoned there. If they are not killed by their fellow-inmates, the cruel wheels of “justice” will probably end their lives. They truly “sit in darkness” in spite of the brilliant Philippine sunshine. As I approached, I was acutely aware that my Bible School training had not prepared me for this kind of ministry. Nine thousand men were waiting on the other side of the forbidding walls and I hardly knew what I could do to make a difference in their lives. Still, I had God’s Word and it needed to be planted within those walls, even more desperately than it was needed outside. I hoped to share God’s truth and hope with a few of those forsaken men. The superintendent made it clear that there would be no proselytising; only if I had followers there already, would I be welcome. Without Mrs. Thompson’s thirty converts, I would never have been allowed inside Bilibid Prison at that time. The superintendent called Pedrosa, the leader of Mrs. Thompson’s group, and he welcomed me heartily since the men were from varied religious backgrounds and needed teaching in the Bible to help them grow spiritually. I returned home rejoicing. About the turn of the year in 1958, there were prison riots, which discouraged some of the people who had helped me, so sometimes I went alone to hold the services. It took a long time for the guards to get used to having a lady minister there. One particular Saturday, I arrived only to be told that there were riots in the cell-house on Death Row. Other groups turned to leave, but I decided to make a stand. “Sir, this is the time the men need to hear the Gospel so they’ll know that Jesus will forgive them.” Only after I signed a waiver releasing them from all responsibility was I allowed to enter the prison that day. I asked the commander of the guard to tell me what really had happened. He told me the horrifying story: One gang rushed down from the top floor, barricaded the gate and burned their gang rivals in their sleeping mats, cutting off the head of one inmate with a sharpened nail and playing ball with it until the guards could enter and stop the free-for all. One prisoner broke loose and tore the flag from its pole, wrapping himself in it. The guards could not shoot the flag so it was a while before they could grab him and put him in leg irons. Then, he had eleven “troublemakers” brought to me, handcuffed and in leg irons. They wore only trousers and their bandages were in plain view. They saw my white uniform
